My Immortal
by lisapow
Summary: There is no such loneliness as immortality. A wizards progeny wanders a modern earth avoiding what she left behind. Avoidance, she learns, can't last forever. Eventual legolasoc. I can't make you read this so I'll beg. This is me begging. See look what
1. Forever

My Immortal Chapter 1- Forever  
Disclaimer: None of this actually exists, if you find yourself imagining a wonderful world reminiscent of Tolkeins masterpiece, enjoy yourself, however, don't stay long and remember to return to reality.

Note: This story will eventually be a legolas/oc. This is mearly an introduction and focuses on the original character

All the worlds a stage,

and all the men and women merely players.

They have their exits and entrances;

And one man in his time plays many parts....   
  
None know the absolute monotony of time so well as I. Well, perhaps some do, but they are few and far between. If there are any amongst us now, I know nothing of them, as they tend to miss me in the vague sense that follows my presence. I have not seen an immortal for at least as long as memory should last. It gives me comfort to think there is someone living anonymously as I do and shares in my suffering.

It is strange to live amongst those who see progress in terms of decades and fear their fortieth birthdays. At first I loathed them, my jealousy of their naive mortality. As stagnant and unchanging as I am, I have grown to love them and respect their mundane lives. The rush and adrenaline they must feel knowing they have scant years to create so much and feel so much. It is like watching the rose bloom, it is a wonder to see such beauty rise and fall before your very eyes. I want that, I want that very much. And so today is the day I set out to die...again.  
  
It is five fifteen in the morning, give or take ten minutes. I know this before I even open my eyes. It is a game I used to play, it takes time and practice but somewhere around 350 years ago I learned to feel the circadian rhythms of the world. There is nothing quiet like eternal hope on the air of early dawn, and I find it next to impossible to sleep through such a wonder. I look at the clock and feel, to my surprise, that I am wrong, by 28 minutes. The surprise fades quickly but the euphoria lingers. It is so rare to feel surprise that the feeling buoys me and I am lifted. Slow to awaken, the streets rude noises are a weak attempt at beginning the day. It is strange that I should feel no sense of the world in this place, even if it is at the heart of New York's metropolis where the only natural song comes from the tamed greenery of central park. As I make tea and sift through the paper I actually catch myself humming. Today is a new world. Today I am Jennifer Kelly, medical student.


	2. Variations on a life

My Immortal Chapter 2-Variations on a life  
  
Note: Hi, thanks to my reviewer, I appreciate the support Miriellar, I warn you that my inspiration is fleeting. Also I'm happy to take any suggestions at any time about direction of the story, let me know if it's going in the way you like or not. Legolas will appear, I promise, be patient. Besides, I have to get you to love my character before you accept the concept that our beloved Legolas could love her, or not. Anyway, I'd love a little feedback to get me through finals week. By the way any plot twists or devices you want to see, let me know  
  
Millions long for immortality who do not know what to do with themselves on a rainy afternoon- Susan Ertz  
  
Saying that I am bored would be an understatement beyond the reaches of imagining. I am C-span bored, watching grass grow bored, counting the hairs of my right arm bored (3,642 by the way). I am mildly curious to find out if the ratio of arm hair on my right is equal to that of the left, and if I can conclude by those results whether there is, in fact, consequential order to the world, when the professor releases us from our lecture- to my great satisfaction. I guess I should have skipped the med school part and gone straight on to interning. After all, I had gone through med school 52 years ago. While much has changed in the medical world, according to human perception anyway, little has changed in basic human pathophysiology and anatomy. I find myself wondering what drew me in this direction. It is perhaps amusing that there are no people on earth that find themselves as immortal as typical physician does. And who can fault them really, who would see a self-conscious doctor who is frequently unsure of himself and second guessing his decisions when your own life is in there split second decisions  
  
I gather my things up quickly as the man beside me lets out a groan and tries to catch my eyes, yet again. "This is going to be a killer, huh?" he says to me. I give him a grunt of agreement though I'm fairly sure our reasons don't coincide. He smiles at me, grins really. The 'lets be friends I'm looking for sympathy and self-assurance' grin. He holds his had out to me

"Jesse Thomas". I must have given him a strange look for his grin starts to lose its authenticity.

"Jenny Kelly", I reply. It is at that moment I come to the conclusion that this particular personality should never go by Jenny. Names should never really rhyme, it's too novel-like.

"Hi Jenny", he replies. Oh well, too late to change my mind now. Perhaps this personality is the bubbly cheerful contrite type, who belongs to a rhyming name. I've never tried that before, it could be fun, or, at the very least different. If I want to change my mind later I will. Jesse Thomas won't remember my name in five minutes anyway. I tend to have that effect on people.

I've got my bag on my shoulder and am halfway down the hall until I really acknowledge he's still beside me. He feels different somehow, I don't feel him deep down the way I should, as I normally would register a living being in my personal space. It generally is something I sense on all levels, from the surface of my skin to the subconscious of my soul, and at times can be overwhelming. I suppose I have been from the city too long.

"How do you do that", he asks. I shrug, unsure to what he is referring. "You're not making any sound."

"Oh" I smile.

"No, I mean really, you're absolutely silent. Actually I didn't really notice, but right now I can't really hear anything. I mean the city and all, or the background, or whatever. Its incredible, like being in a sound booth or a bubble, or something."

"Oh" I say again and smile a bit, hoping it is sufficient for him to go away. All I really want right now is a bath and a stimulating novel.

"We should go out." He looks away hoping I haven't noticed the subtle reddening in his lips and the way they slowly engorge, or the pink tips of his ears. More on his left side then his right, he must be left side dominant. His secret is safe with me though, no ordinary soul would ever have noticed, or not consciously anyway. "I mean we should get to know each other, being as we're classmates now and all. How about coffee, are you busy right now." I smile a bit at his eagerness.

"No thank you," I reply, as politely as I could. He looks mesmerized and colors even more. I turn and move away before he even moves or looks from the place I had, a moment before, been standing.

"Oh, so you're the rebuffed pessimistic love is shit type" He seems a bit surprised by the courage and the words that have come out of his mouth unbidden. Rebuffed, he is still desperate enough to try and bait me.

"You've found me out, you cleaver boy," I reply a bit sarcastically. There is a moments awkward pause.

"Why," he returns a bit sad and sympathetically. I admit it catches me a bit and I turn to take a second look at him. Tall and lean with pure blond hair, he has the type of blue eyes that one could easily drown in. Arousing, in general, but I don't have the time or patience.

"They say that time mends a broken heart and true love never ends, but if true love never ended then time wouldn't have to mend." He looks back toward me, as if the entire world has darkened just a bit, or as if the end of a good fairy tale has just ended without a happy ending.   
  
Time is the only true healer I have ever known. And, as is typical of any treatment, time has it's side effects and drawbacks. The encounter is mearly a foot note, and rarely do such meetings phase me.  
  
True to form, Jesse Thomas does not notice me in Tuesday's classes. I try once, out of mild curiosity and habit to catch his glance and search for some form of recognition. Unerringly his glance slides by mine without pause. Not even a flicker of recognition. Oh well.


	3. called home

Chapter 3-in which our character is finally called home  
  
All that is gold does not glitter,  
  
Not all those who wander are lost;  
  
The old that is strong does not wither,  
  
Deep roots are not reached by frost.  
  
I didn't know what had called me to New York in this life, in this time. I had not been summoned by the fate of September 11th. I had then been an ocean away fulfilling another destiny, following other sorrows. It has been almost three years since then. And while there remained a permanent scar on the city, it was in fact a scar and thus already healed. There was little more I could do. Life is what it is and it is no more complicated then that. When fate itched, I scratched, and fate had directed me to New York City.  
  
After a long month of tedious lectures I found myself sitting beside Jesse yet again. He seemed distracted by my presence and while packing up at the end of a very long hour at the end of a very long day, we began a rather familiar conversation. He stared unselfconsciously as I placed a notebook in my worn leather bag.  
  
"Hello," he opens. I smile and nod at him. "Jesse Thomas," he informs me as he holds out his hand.

"Jennifer Kelly," I reply as I accept his hand. He startles at my touch, but does not let my hand go. I complete the task for him, though he seems not to notice.

"Jennifer Kelly", he repeats airily, "you have the most beautiful voice." I smile and look away, avoiding eye contact. Though I've heard the compliment before and try to avoid such, it does stroke my ego a bit. I try not to let it go to my head, it rarely does any good there. As we stride out the door and down the hall side by side we are silent. Jesse appears preoccupied and I do not mind the companionable silence. As I turn down the street toward my subway line I am a bit surprised that Jesse turns to go with me. There are few details in life that slip pass my notice and Jesse, as he always does, had driven his car in to the city that morning. The parking garage was in the other direction.

"Are you running errands," I ask. He stops abruptly at the sound of my voice. I stop as well.

"Going home," he replies absently.

"Oh" I reply, and let the matter drop. There is no use pointing out the obvious to him. He looks around in that moment anyway and finally notices that he is not in fact where he intended to be. He looks at me a bit awkwardly and I give him an encouraging smile and a slight shrug of my shoulders. I am at least a dozen feet on my way when I hear his voice at my back. He has still not moved from the spot I had left.

"We should go out," he yells out. I turn back toward him and smile to myself. I make my way back toward him.

"No thank you," I tell him.

"Oh,"he replies dejectedly and does manage to look pathetically sad. Unfortunately, after a few thousand years simple rejection does little to affect one's sympathies like war, plague, and oppression can. I shrug trying to keep my condescending cynicism to myself. After all, it's not his fault.

"So you're the rebuffed, pessimistic, love is shit type."he says allowing his anger at being rebuffed to emerge  
  
Well, I guess this is a remarkably familiar conversation.

I pause and try a different approach, after all he won't remember in the morning, I will. I might as well try for a more pleasant memory. For a moment I consider going home with him, but it is a brief moment and never truly considered. Instead I put on my best faux doctor voice and reply, "love is a temporary insanity curable by marriage or by removal of the patient from the influences under which he incurred the disorder. It is sometimes fatal, but more frequently to the physician than to the patient." This gets a small laugh out of him and I turn to leave on an up note. When I do, I catch his eye quite by accident.  
  
It is remarkable how much there is to see of one's soul through the eyes. It is then that I know what turn of fate brought me to New York. Jesse has the HIV virus. I know not how long ago he acquired it, but it matters little. I am surprised I did not catch on when we touched, however, the contact was overwhelmed by his happiness and he is not, as yet truly unhealthy. As I make my way home I think on the days ahead and wonder if my fate here could be so simple. I am never generally attracted to the sorrow of one person, and as I suspected, in the following weeks I learn to what extent the sorrow would reach.

By the end of the month, eight people have contracted the virus. During health exams prior to our first hospital clinic one year later 39 people are informed they will die. It is not war, or mass genocide, torture or rape I face this time, but all sorrows have their place, and so follows mine. I have bided my time until the physicals. Though I know what will come to pass, I do not interfere. Just as I obey my fate, so too do I obey the fate of others. My own physical was quite remarkable, as such things always are. Being only half human can really skew your results. I politely refuse any additional tests and accept follow up appointments that I will never keep.

It will take all week to make contact with all 39 students and months more to take their memories. I could meet them all within a day but such a process draining and unnecessary. I have found that suffering too has its place, though I will not stand and let it pass unchecked. Time is not such a pressing matter as I once thought it was, and though for the last I contact it will be the longest, most horrid time of their life, no permanent damage will result. I take from each their coming suffering and leave no knowledge of what will be. Though they will meet death on their appointed day, the passing will be an easy one. I do not grant them clemency from their sentence; even if I could, I would not. A true angel of death, I will give them the gift I have only dreamed of for myself. The following months will not be hard, I have lived them before. I am numb to the memories I adopt. They take little notice besides the collection I have acquired. The physical suffering is more outward and yet the feeling will pass. No doubt more quickly then it should.  
  
The cat started coming around about the same time that my nightmares did. I have had nightmares in the past, but not for hundreds of years, and not like these. It was as if I was experiencing the fate of something great and horrid befalling a power that should not fail, but was. There was little detail for which my imagination more then made up for. The dreams themselves had little variation, always I was falling, always I was surrounded by flame. I am unaccustomed to the impact that such a horror can have. The thousands of memories of victimization have had little to no impact on me, certainly not like this. Compounding my worries was my utter lack of knowing and feeling the living world. I had given up my game of telling the time when I awoke.  
  
The cat was nothing much to look at. Old and scruffy, he had been in too many fights and eaten too little. It was difficult to make out through the matted fur that he was gray striped. The first day he came in through my open window above my fire escape I felt obliged to give him a bit of my dinner. He never approached me, and I never approached him, it was an agreement of mutual acceptance, made without having to test any boundaries and I appreciated that. As time went on he stayed around longer and longer. Whether he was comforted by my presence or stuck around for the food I don't know. I like to think he was there to comfort me. On the tenth night he decided to stay and I decided he needed a bath, again the decision was reached by mutual consensus. When he woke me on the third night during an exceptionally painful point of my dream I brought him home tuna fish.  
  
Though he was a comfort it was not enough. I came to accept the dreams for what they were, a calling... and I knew it was time to go home.


	4. Wanderer

My immortal  
  
Warning this next paragraph contains spoilers and may ruin the entire rest of the story for you, please skip over it if you want to enjoy the major plot devices as they happen. It is a response to a review. I have been elusive about the plot line and someone asked how the character will fit into ME mythos to answer that question I will underline the plot. If you want to find out the whole plot and give me some advice as to direction that's okay too, read on.

SKIPTHISSKIPTHISSKIPTHISSKIPTHISSKIPTHISSKIPTHISSKIPTHIS

HI, thanks for the advice-by rouge I was thinking the color, I'll fix it. Angel of death isn't necessarily her mythos, rather I think her talent. I was going to try to incorporate her into the Middle Earth world by making her a grandchild of Gandolfs. See, the way I think of it is that Wizards are the great and powerful wisdom that tries to hold life together. But do you ever hear of the same of the female? A female wizard is in fact a witch. Not to be trusted, manipulative, and selfish. Not that I'm trying to deny that these aren't qualities present in some degree in every woman. Anyway, basic plot is she is a wizards progeny. Rare as they are in this time of waning magic, she is given the chance to hold her own and take the oath of the order. She encounters Legolas (here's the predictable part) falls in love and renigs or her vow to the order (I just saw troy, orlando bloom as the ass who thinks love makes up for everything) there are cases mind you that love is just, but there is selfish love too and thats the direction I'm going for. Anyway like Romeo and Juliet, they have the young lustful burning love that just can't last. They burnout and legolas leaves. Heartbroken and tormented by her betrayal to her vows she wanders where she will, taking on the suffering of others she feels she deserves with the magic inherent in her. The calling home part is coinciding with Gandolfs "death". She feels it in her soul and believes he is calling for her in his need. Unfortunately she has wandered so far (all the way to our earth) that it is like seeing the light of a distant sun. By the time she gets back home the war of the rings has just finished and she is too late to save her grandfather. More plot manipulation and I will create the adventure she feels can repay her debt to the order and along the way renew the love of Legolas and her into a pure mature love, the kind that can out live immortality (awww). So what do you think-too much of a stretch (I think I'm pulling pretty far) anything you dislike or think would improve the plot or if you think the whole thing is crap, just let me know. It'd be nice to get some idea of how the plot would be received before I go too much farther. Thanks for reviewing-lisa

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Chapter 4-Wanderer  
  
The path to our destination is not always a straight one. We go down  
  
the wrong road, we get lost, we turn back. Maybe it doesn't matter  
  
which road we embark on. Maybe what matters is that we embark.  
  
Barbara Hall  
  
As I glance around the apartment I realize how little I have amassed in the last hundreds of years. There are few things of which I have attached sentimental value. Those possessions of practicality are easily parted with and replaced. I start moving things here and there in the semblance of preparing for my journey, but the truth is the objects are simply shifting from one place to another with no real purpose. I feel suddenly claustrophobic and leave. Naturally and unconsciously I find myself walking along the tree-lined paths of central park. The sight is comforting, but the lack of communication I feel with my surroundings is painfully frustrating. Defeated, I make my way back to the apartment. The site of the gray tabby cat greeting me at the door brings me to my emotional edge and I realize I am uncharacteristically, unarguably emotional.  
  
Home. I'm going home. Perhaps I am not ready. Perhaps I have waited too long. Whatever the timing the need is unavoidable. I am not familiar with feeling unsure and in truth I am perhaps frightened. The realization is telling. My security remains with the fact that I am following the winds of fate, as I have always and will always. The catharsis is quick and the result finally inspires my action. Food, a pair of jeans and goose down coat, the pocket versions of Shakespeare's sonnets and Douglas Adams hitchhiker's guide to the galaxy are packed along with my well used Indian horse blanket matches, and water purifier. My only real treasure, a locket, I place around my neck for the first time since leaving my home. I smile at the site of the tabby cat. "If you were but a horse, I'd take you with me." The cat looks up at me, as if in understanding. And perhaps he does. He is not the mangy damaged cat who came to my window three weeks ago. His gleaming coat and proud demeanor make me humble. I grab my backpack and pick up the proud tabby. I don't look twice as I leave the apartment and make my way downstairs.

The little girl in the first apartment is home alone again. I am glad that when I knock for the second time she does not open the door, as she has no doubt been taught. She is quiet and shy; I have never heard her speak. In her time at school, she mingles with a few close friends. It is the hours at home through long afternoons and even longer days throughout the coming summer that she will feel caged and become resentful. I do not want her to break her long-standing oath to never open the door and so I call out to her. She opens the door and stares up at me in wonder. I smile and hand over the cat, confident that it is the right thing.

I too stare at the child in wonder, she has one of the most beautiful imaginations I have ever seen and the image and background she has invented for me astonishes me in the most amazing way. I am in rapture, and so we continue to stare at one another unable to turn back to reality. I nonetheless have duties that are beyond me, and so, with regret, I turn and go. The young girl reaches for me and I turn to look back.  
  
"Will you sing for me?" she asks.

How could anyone refuse such a plea? And so I stayed and sang to the tabby and little girl who were already bonded as if they had never not known one another.  
  
The songs were still running through my head as the train departed Penn station for New Jersey. In truth I had no notion of my direction. With no one to ask, and no clues in the deep vault of my memory I wandered and hoped against sense that I would come out of this world as I had entered it, out of sheer need.  
  
I know not how long I wandered. The days were long and forgetful and the nights longer with more to try and forget. Always the dreams, always I fell. Through fire, through water, no variation and no end. I had no breath and I felt my body failing, deserting me. My only constant companion the tortuous knowledge that I had not yet completed my task. I was defeated and worthless and such feelings permeated the days spent endlessly wandering, searching. I felt my sanity beside me, as if a solid thing; always in my company and yet never a part of myself. It was as if it knew of my hopeless task and through the need for preservation, sanity was leaving. Like the rescue boats aside the sinking Titanic, or a family watching as their home burns to the ground, my sanity looked on in horror. And still I wandered.  
  
When at last I knew I had found home, I had not the presence of mind to know how I had gotten there. Exhausted I tried to sleep and on and on the dream pervaded my attempts. With the clarity of day and some semblance of rest I noted that the air was strange and the ground different. In the way one might feel returning to a story once read as a young child, so it was with seeing the land that was of my birth. At once strange and familiar it was of a memory so distant it was as if I had dreamed it.  
  
Of no comfort was the knowledge that I felt no renewing connection with the land. I felt human, lost and out of touch, merely walking on a ground that happened to exist. My disorientation continued with my lack of direction. I knew only what I sought ,not where to go. I followed the basest of my instincts, the trait that had yet to leave and in so doing cease to define me. I felt for sarrow. It was a beakon to my need, a lighthouse to my blinding senses. I moved the opposite direction. It is through the greatest sense of calm that I found myself attracted to the great elven city of Rivendell.


	5. crowded hours

My Immortal 5 Crowded Hours  
  
Most of us think ourselves as standing wearily and helplessly at the  
center of a circle bristling with tasks, burdens, problems, annoyance,  
and responsibilities which are rushing in upon us. At every moment we  
have a dozen different things to do, a dozen problems to solve, a  
dozen strains to endure. We see ourselves as overdriven, overburdened,  
overtired. This is a common mental picture and it is totally false. No  
one of us, however crowded his life, has such an existence. What is  
the true picture of your life? Imagine that there is an hour glass on  
your desk. Connecting the bowl at the top with the bowl at the bottom  
is a tube so thin that only one grain of sand can pass through it at a  
time. That is the true picture of your life, even on a super busy day,  
The crowded hours come to you always one moment at a time. That is the  
only way they can come. The day may bring many tasks, many problems,  
strains, but invariably they come in single file. You want to gain  
emotional poise? Remember the hourglass, the grains of sand dropping  
one by one.  
James Gordon Gilkey  
  
Over the rocky ground and to the accompanying sound of tumbling water I made my way down the steep zigzag path into the valley of Rivendell as slowly as I would, delaying the inevitable, buying time in my need to center myself. The pine trees made way for beech and oak and under the canopy of dense forest I sifted through each of my emotions taking care to arrange them as best I could and leaving them to the corner of my mind. I approached an elf and made my request to see the Lord Elrond. She made did not question my need or berate me for interrupting her time. She did not point or scoff or reveal emotion of any kind, she merely lifted her flowing gown from the ground and lead me to my destination.

I was escorted to a library that would bring out jealousy in any intelligent creature. Though I had seen such before, I too marveled at the collection of works laid out so simply along latticework shelves. Comfortable nooks and crannies filled with inviting cushions tempted the soul to stay for a spell and absorb the wisdom the library had to offer. The Lord Elrond himself was doing just that as I approached him. He took in my appearance without pause though I know it disturbed him. Not for my actual company, but the terrible need which must have necessitated it. A great an empty pause lay between us, neither party willing to give voice to the purpose for my visit. Elrond, in all his wisdom knew the subject must at some time be broached.  
  
"You would not come into elvin lands so idly, I should think." He stated, as if an opinion and not a fact.  
  
I looked to him. He returned my stare with cold intelligent eyes. The comment was the closest to asking the reason for my sudden appearance as he would come. An elf amongst elves he would not stoop to curiosity no matter how strange or unlikely my visit.  
  
And it was in fact impossible. I had cursed their lands in my dreams, cried out for their ruin and despaired in my rage. Suffice to say I did not care for the company of elves and had sworn never to return to their circle. The oath was now broken by my presence and I had once again consciously betrayed my own vow. Like a human, it appeared vows meant little to me. I was here for help, and as Elrond could not reduce to curiosity so too I could not reduce to giving voice to me need. And so we continued in each other's presence silent as the beginning of time.  
  
"I will not degrade you with formalities, but you look in need of sustenance, allow me to offer a meal, or drink," offered Elrond.  
  
Two trays were brought. There is a kind of truce in sharing a meal and I was grateful that Elrond had made the reconciliatory measure I feared I did not have strength for. It was a measure that induced me to make the request I had come for. Courage came from my resolve, fate had requested me, I had come for that and not myself. I looked to Elrond and aired my request.

The request was awkward and ill stated. I managed to convey my fears that some great power was in need of aid, though that may be hard for the elf to believe coming from myself. I described in detail the dreams that accompanied my sleep, hoping he could see into the content more clearly then I. I was carrying the message to the one being that held the power to aid a wizard in distress, Elrond would know who to seek or send out. For all I knew it could be Saruman the white in need, Gandalf at the very least should be told of my concerns. Though in my fear it was Gandalf himself in need of aid. I had thought that it was he at the first, as we were once very close and share a strong blood tie, but the power in need is a power far stronger then even my grandfather.  
"You have been gone long, and missed much...You will not find what you expect when you reach your conclusion."

I looked to him and offered no reply to his broad and therefor meaningless interpretation.

"You must go to the head of the order."  
  
"I can't Elrond, please, you must see that."  
  
"You must." The thick weighted words of Elrond were final.  
  
It was as simple as that, the stark simple truth. If you seek a wizard, you must go to the order. But I could not. I had not the strength to approach the order that had requested I never return. It was not that alone, but my own soul and conscious that was banished. I had not only disappointed them in my time, I had disappointed myself and the disgrace was so great that it wounded me to the core, shaped my very being. It was a self-inflicted wound and one I had not allowed to heal. I would suffer what I must, but I could not return.  
  
I did not reply. I could not acknowledge his response to my need for aid.  
  
Sweet Valinor what had I done, what was I doing here. He approached me, tall, regal and commanding, his very presence put me in my place and every look, every movement reminded me that I had come to him, begging. He touched my locket. It shocked me, such an invasion of my personal space. It sickened me that he would feel the need to remind me that he knew. The symbolism was not lost, but I was. Every moment that passed reminded me that I was unworthy, that I did not belong here. And yet I did. I had followed my fate, and it brought me here, I could endure what I must, and I must go to the order.  
  
I met Elrond's eyes for the first time since my arrival.  
  
"I understand".  
  
He nodded in approval. "You will need escort."  
  
It was a statement not a question. I nodded dumbly, automatically. He left a moment. I stared numbly at the floor trying to gather my thoughts, recover my strength and resolve. When he returned he was not alone. I froze and lost all logical thought, all cognitive power. Like a deer in front of an automobile I was caught fighting my instincts screaming for me to run, and a body that no longer had the capability to heed the wisdom of my brain.  
  
Tall long and lean, Elrond's companion entered the room and brought with him an entirely different atmosphere. Grace followed him as if a tangible thing, a lover on his arm, he carried it as if it could belong to no other creature on earth. He looked to me and I was stuck by the clear pure blue of his eyes. He had not changed at all. If anything his dignity had grown, he had mastered his self-awareness.

"Legolas this is Nayeli. Nayeli, Legolas will escort you to the order."  
  
Legolas. The name echoed through me as if in a canyon and I felt nearly as hallow, as ancient and worn down. Sweet mercy why was Elrond testing me so? Was not my resolve proven in my presence here, in the quest I had agreed upon?  
  
Legolas himself could feel the weight of the exchange, but knew nothing of the content. In his wisdom, he did not inquire. In practicality he made several suggestions for the journey, but I was not truly present. I nodded automatically to each of his requests and prayed that the conversation be over as soon as it may. He asked nothing personal of me, though he knew nothing of the person he would be escorting.  
  
"If in your wisdom you care not for the company of stogy incompetent dwarves I apologize in advance, my friend Gimli will accompany us." Legolas said this last well timed for the accompanying dwarf to overhear as we were all shepherded to sleeping quarters. I noted the friendly banter and entered my sleeping chambers.

I made my way to the bed and in my denial, attempted sleep.


	6. memories, all alone in the moonlight

My Immortal 6  
  
A.N- Thanks for bringing up the vagueness of the story line. I forget that when I read the story over as an author I have the luxury of knowing where each character came from and where they're going. I do not purposely keep the story confusing, I was just trying to give the character some mystery that I can reveal as Legolas himself uncovers it, but I see that I'm going way overboard. I hope this chapter makes things a little less foggy.  
  
PS-I know that things are getting really quite dark, but I promise things will get lighter and wittier as our characters begin their journey.  
  
Fear is the main source of superstition, and one of the main sources  
of cruelty. To conquer fear is the beginning of wisdom.  
Bertrand Russell  
  
Fear is the tax that conscience pays to guilt.  
George Sewell  
  
I woke to darkness in a cold sweat. Disoriented from the sense of falling and the deafening roar of pain, I stood but fell back again to the bed I had arisen from. It was as if I had been at sea too long and could not remember the sensation of stable ground. However, the bed was like a vortex and I could not stand to be near it or anything else that might lull me back into the dream. And so I stumbled along the periphery of my room searching for the door and accompanying fresh air.

I eventually made my way to the barely discernable gardens. It was not the view I was seeking, rather the openness. I found I was not alone in seeking the relief of the gardens. Elrond had his back to me, though I knew he was aware of my presence he chose not to acknowledge it. I was happy to oblige and continued down the path. I was surprised to hear his footsteps behind me.  
  
"Did you never find it rude to read into others minds; such sacred places there are that none shall enter but the one who created it," Elrond stated to my back.  
  
Elrond was angry. Anger on an elf is an intimidating concept. A master among elves, this was exceptional. Annoyance, irritation, and boredom one might see, but anger, never. It was frightening, but not half so much as it was angering. I was quick to rise and defend myself  
  
"I never read their minds, though I am as strong as they declared at my birth there are none that strong. It is memories that I see, and only those that cause such sorrow, none such as you can image "  
  
"What do you so nonchalantly imply in that, do not spar with me witch, you have enough enemies."  
  
Our voices were rising and words began to flow before thought had time to catch up with emotion. I felt my adrenaline rush with each word.  
  
"And I never go where I do not have permission. I take only those memories that I've been asked to take. I do not take their futures, I do not change their past"  
  
"Permission... _permission_? Did you never ask Legolas's permission?" His voice carried the gravel weight of his wrath and the heat of the fight built to a crescendo.  
  
"That is none of your business. You've no right to bring that in my face."  
  
"I do not have to bring it to your face! You wear it about your own neck as if a charm," Elrond retorted, but he did not stop there. "You do not fool me, your deceit shines through the decades. You tell me tales of your self- imposed exile, of the sorrow you have erased as if you have done good, as if you are making amends. But I tell you child, you have _no_ _right_. Those souls you save are survivors, be they proud or broken, they are survivors and you take away the knowledge of their scars, of their endurance, of their triumph over evil. What pride in that?"  
  
"And what purpose of endurance if there is nothing left worth living," I replied. "Do not presume to know me lord, I take from them what I can not take from myself. And I'll wear it proudly for I do deserve it. I asked not your forgiveness, nor do I ask your understanding. You claim to carry the fate of a whole people on your shoulders, but have you ever felt it? Do you feel the sorrow of a dying people, do you know the evil that haunts them, now times it by 10, by 100? Do not judge my actions, do not judge what you could not stand to watch and bear in my place"  
  
His answer, it appeared, was silence. I had said my piece and Elrond had said his, we each listened, but did we really hear? A peaceful quite descended on us. A stark contrast to the thunderous anger of moments before. I was not aware of the tears coursing down my cheeks, but Elrond was. He never misses anything.  
  
"I am afraid Elrond. I would not be here if I were not."  
  
"I know child"  
  
"The memories I carry, I am afraid they are not a warning, I do not know how to change that which has already happened."  
  
"Seek Gandalf, there you shall find your answers."  
  
"Elrond...I am afraid of him also."  
  
And I saw then compassion, not pity. And I was grateful.  
  
"Do not fear your own kin, child."  
  
"I fear the unknown, is it not natural to fear the unknown?"  
  
"People have a hard time letting go of their suffering. Out of a fear of the unknown, they prefer suffering that is familiar."  
  
And I paused then, and heard what he had said and acknowledged his wisdom.  
  
I felt a need still to defend what little honor I still claimed. "I do not wear the locket as a charm Elrond."  
  
Again I was met with silence. I did not wish to provoke the Elf, or rekindle his anger, yet I desired to explain myself. "I am not proud of my actions but the reaction was my own and I will live with the knowledge of my lost love the rest of my immortal life, I would not wish Legolas to share such a burden."  
  
The weight of his hand on my shoulder was of comfort. I continued, "I take their sorrows because I can. It is the least I can do and perhaps it is to my benefit as well. There is nothing quite like the pain of thousands to put your own in perspective." I managed a weak smile. He nodded once and made his way back into the shadows leaving me with my thoughts once more.


End file.
